


The Art Of Sensation

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Soul Communion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels are sexless; devoid of the need for sexual attraction.<br/>It doesn’t mean, however, that they can’t feel sensation; skin against skin, soul against soul, and really, isn’t that what sex should be about?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Sensation

**Author's Note:**

> I am totally getting better at writing this sex stuff (not really, I was just writing and trying not to get too detailed because I have no idea how to explain actual copulation.) I have nooo idea when this is set - possibly early season 5, or like season 8/past then when everything is dandy enough for them to be having sensation sex.  
> But yeah, enjoy :3

Dean’s skin, wrapped around Castiel as he thrusts into him for the third time that evening (and the burn is both worse and better, worse because this is a human form, and better because he’s used to it, welcomes it) is moist and warm; saturated with sweat, hence the moisture.

As to the heat, Castiel isn’t sure whether it’s the simple accelerated motion of blood in vein, the increased heart rate and stress of exertion, or the burning light of his _soul_ that leaves Dean fiery and searing even through the slightly distant medium of his vessel, reaching down and _through_ straight into Castiel’s true form, folded away and neither here nor there in the shadows of time and space.

He shivers at that idea, implausible though it is; for more likely it’s simply a human phenomenon, a product of the three hours, twenty six minutes and thirteen seconds since Dean pushed Castiel up against the wall and crashed his lips into Castiel’s.  Soul communion is rare and sacred, not the product nor aim of sexual activity.

“Cas.  Cas?  Hey…Cas,” Dean pants, and the thrusts slow and still as he holds himself up on shaking hands, planted on either side of Castiel’s head.  The effort involved in resisting the urge to continue must be truly taxing, Castiel notes, because Dean’s body trembles.

Castiel frowns, doesn’t understand _why_ Dean has stopped, and can’t resist snapping his hips upwards (something he would never have done in the beginning when Dean first told him about his…desires…shamefaced and sure of punishment; when he shrugged and agreed easily, content with the idea that his only sexual experience might very well be his closest ally ( _friend_ ) on Earth.)  He feels Dean shudder inside of him, sees the wavering of his determined gaze as his eyes darken with lust again; but apart from an instinctual twitch forwards, Dean doesn’t acknowledge the movement.

Instead he stares at Castiel, worry in his eyes.  “Are you okay?” he rasps.  “You were shivering, just before – you cold, or does this hurt, or something?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the idea that he could be _cold_ , under the emerald fire of Dean’s eyes, while engulfed by the furnace that is Dean’s skin, his soul, all bright and raging and frighteningly addictive.

Castiel doesn’t feel desire; not in the way Jimmy Novak’s memories indicated that humans do, not in a way that will drive a man to ignore a woman’s reluctance, or to seek out orgasm for the sake of orgasm.

But _this_?  This is communion, in the highest form; a communion of his Father’s creations, melded together in an endless instant that must burn brighter than the sun.

This is _okay_.

This is more than _okay_.

“I feel perfect,” Castiel answers with complete honesty, and pulls Dean’s face down for a kiss, his body down to penetrate him even more deeply than before, and his soul to brush against Castiel’s Grace.


End file.
